Kidnapped
by readme833
Summary: Beckett is sent abroad on a mission to seduce and kill a dangerous man for the CIA. When the mission doesn't go as planned, Castle must travel to Europe to save her. Enjoy!
1. Chapter 1

One man was the greatest threat to our existence. The weapons he designed put millions at risk—not just in his own country but in the four neighboring nations as well. He had a history of using biological weapons against his own people and trained his men for suicide missions.

He made the top of the Top Priority list at the CIA earlier this year when our contacts abroad obtained footage of him boarding a flight from Beijing to Paris under his latest alias. According to the M15, he now resides in Spain, where the terrorist lives under the cover of an IT analyst in Madrid.

Few people there know his true identity. He uses the vast number of messages sent from his office to hide his coded commands to his men back home. Rumor has it his orders have led to four different attacks in his country.

The British attempted assassination last month and failed miserably. The mission left three men dead and two more stranded in a foreign country.

Even here in the USA he has been regarded as unstoppable. But, according to numerous 'anonymous' sources, our guy does have one weakness, women.

I was honored when I was recruited by Washington to consult on the case. They swore it was standard procedure when they had me complete six weeks of vigorous field training. They taught me to use the latest weaponry the CIA had to offer. Their lessons went beyond the basic self defense we're taught in New York. They had me practice injections, combat, and Spanish phrases. They gave me classified information that only top level officers have access to.

And then they explained my very first mission.

In the spy world they call it a "honey trap." I go to Spain, seduce the greatest enemy of the United States and then, when my handler gives me the 'OK', I lead him to a hotel room where five of our guys will be waiting in the dark with duct tape in one hand and silenced gun in the other.

"How will I get out of Spain?" I ask

"There will be a car waiting outside the building." The agent says flatly.

"To take me to Barajas Airport?" I say.

My eyes narrow and I try to read his cold stare back at me. The room we're in has solid white walls and nothing but the small table and fold-up chair we're sitting on. A lone light bulb hangs above us illuminating the case file.

The agent shakes his head, "They'll drive you to Portugal. From there you'll fly to London."

"Why?"

His face remains blank, "You don't want to be in the country or even on a Spanish airplane when he's found. You'll be safe in Portugal."

"But why London?"

"From Portugal to England you'll fly under your alias. In London we can you your real papers. You'll arrive back in the US as yourself."

"And then?"

"And then you'll be well compensated as promised."

"This isn't about the money."

He gives me a half-smile, "I'm sure your fiancé could use the money after his publisher dropped him."

"How did you..?" I begin.

He shrugs, "We're the CIA. We know what you have for breakfast."

"And what happens if things don't go as planned?" I say.

"Which part in particular?" he says.

"What if they don't kill him?"

"You'll be gone by then. Long gone."

"What if they arrest me before I escape? Do we have any cooperation from their government?"

"We won't need it." He says.

I think through the mission in my head, trying to process every detail. The wait becomes too long for the agent.

"So what do you say?"

"I won't sleep with him." I say.

"I'm sorry?" he says, shocked at the confession.

"I don't know how it usually works around here but I won't sleep with a terrorist just so your guys can get a better shot."

"You won't have to." He assures. "Perhaps a kiss here and there is all we ask. At most."

"And Castle? What will I tell him?"

"We'll take care of that. He'll know you're helping us and that you're safe." He pauses for a moment, "Relatively safe."

"And what if I can't get him to come back to the hotel with me?"

He almost laughs out loud, "That is something you absolutely don't need to worry about."

I shake my head and look down at the table, "I don't know."

The man puts his hand on mine, "This man is responsible for the deaths of thousands. It will be millions soon if something isn't done to stop him. The weapons he has designed could destroy an entire city within minutes. He needs to be stopped. Your country needs your help. Are you up for the task?

I take a deep breath, "When do I leave?"


	2. Chapter 2

Here is the next chapter! I got a little silly with this one. I hope you all enjoy it! Do you want me to stay in Beckett's point of view or switch it around?

I'm not exactly the best packer when it comes to regular trips let alone extended-stay spy trips. I'll tell myself "pack five shirts. That's all you will need. No more." But suddenly it's like every shirt I pull out of my closet I have some kind of deep sentimental attachment to.

Like this black cami I haven't worn since last summer. Should I bring it? I mean it could be hot, Spain is known for having some nice beaches. And what if I need a simple cami to wear under a sweater? Or what if I run out of clean clothes. I'll pull this shirt from my bag and be so grateful I packed one last clean cami. I roll the tiny top into a ball and smush it into the corner of my suitcase.

Maybe they'll need it to attach a microphone or some kind of bug. When I'm accepting my award for this mission the President will shake my hand and say, "Thankfully she had that cami on or we never would have defeated the terrorists."

Besides, one tiny little cami is not going to put me over the weight limit.

I sit on top of my suitcase and force all my weight on top of it. I tug at the zipper and hear it close just the tiniest bit. I drop my body weight on top of the case again like a sumowrestler and the zipper barely budges.

But by now, it doesn't matter to me. Now, my eyes are focuses on my old jeans in the corner of my closet.

God I used to love those jeans.

It would probably be best to bring one more pair of jeans. I mean, it might be cold out. Spain is known for having moody weather. Plus I look really, really good in them. The mission might fail without these jeans.

I have to take them.

I unzip the tiny portion of zipped suitcase and push my jeans down into my pile of clothes. Surely, one extra pair of pants is not going to put me over the weight limit. Besides, I'm traveling for the government. They can't have a weight limit on government bags. Can they?

I plop back down on my suit case and reach around the corner for the dangling zipper. This suitcase will close. Is has to close. I rock from side to side trying to get just one small portion of it to budge. The people who make suitcases really need to design a better zipper. I paid good money for this case and it won't even work.

I grab a stack of heavy books from my desk and hold them on my lap. This has got to work. I force my weight onto the top of the case and tug at the zipper. Finally it moves. I plop down again and get just a little bit more. Then a little bit more. And then…riiiiip.

Maybe Castle has another suitcase…

Honestly, I'm going to write a letter to the suitcase company. I am not satisfied with my purchase.

As planned my taxi arrives at 4:05 in the afternoon to take me to JFK. The taxi driver, a man with biceps practically bulging from his t-shirt nearly drops my bag as he lifts in into the trunk. I pretend not to notice and quickly slide into the backseat.

The driver slams the door of the trunk and shakes out his hand as he gets in his seat. He turns on the car and switches the air conditioning to full blast. When we hit the first red light he turns around and hands me a packet.

"These are your papers," the driver says flatly.

He doesn't turn around to speak to me. His eyes remain focused on the road.

"These will get you to London from there someone will give you your papers for Spain."

My stomach turns. The taxi driver isn't just a taxi driver.

"How will I know who?" I say.

"Don't look for him. He'll find you." The driver says. "You leave in just under two hours. I'll take you to the front gate. Make sure you don't have anything else in your luggage that can identify you."

"I don't." I insist.

"A t-shirt with your college mascot on it could ruin everything. Are you sure there is nothing in your luggage that can identify you?"

I think through everything I packed this morning, "I might want to check one last time."

He slams on the breaks and pulls the car off to the side, "Make it quick."


End file.
